


It's All...

by SwimmingBird



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drinking, Johnlock Challenge Gift Exchange, Love, M/M, Pining, lurve, valentines day, valentines day gift exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 23:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1205149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwimmingBird/pseuds/SwimmingBird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He stared at her as if he could bore holes into her by sheer force of will...</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's All...

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second fanfic, any ideas or helpful hints on how to make this better would be fantastic!
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> :)
> 
> Also, a big thank you to The_Silent_Writer for beta-ing!

He stared at her as if he could bore holes into her by sheer force of will.

He supposed, by society’s standards she was “beautiful.” She was blonde, had a heart shaped face, soft, full, red lips, a slight natural blush on her dimpled cheeks. She wore simple jewelry that spoke of a middle class background. She had pale skin, not just because of her English background, she didn’t see much natural light often, combined with her cheap but professional outfit: office worker. The way her eyes roved over John’s body taking in every inch of the taut muscle John had hidden under his frumpy-cuddly (adorable) jumpers.

_How hateful._

Sherlock and John had been living together for years now. For all of those days Sherlock has been pleasantly puzzled by the non-assuming Ex-Army Doctor. By all accounts John Watson, with his plain name, plain attire, plain family background, plain everything, should not be interesting.

Sherlock hated clichés and refused to use them, if he were to, however, use one to describe John Watson, Ex-Army Doctor, Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, he would say that John had “hidden depths.” A delicious enigma, one Sherlock could never see himself solving, and for once he was content with that.

So when Sherlock saw this woman pawing (his) John, he could not help but seethe.

But there was a problem with all this; John was interested in women and all their adventures could immediately fade away, if not immediately halt when a clever enough woman would steal John away. This petite blonde might be the one, or the next one, or the one after that.

What’s a high functioning sociopath to do?

Sherlock was knocked out of his reverie when suddenly the (awful, hateful, terrible) blonde leaned a bit too close to John.

 _This Must Stop_.

“John!” Sherlock barked.

John whipped his head towards Sherlock, with a bit annoyed, but questioning look on his face, looking for Sherlock’s lead.

_Ah, that’s better. The attention is where it should be, on me._

Sherlock used his large stride and was quickly in John’s personal space (which is nothing new of course) and incidentally creating a barrier between John and the dreadful woman.

Sherlock turning to the woman in question said “Ah, thank you, Martha-”

“It’s Mary-”

“Yes, well, your input in this case will no doubt be useful. We’ll be in touch, Mandy-”

“It’s still Mary,” the woman looked even more upset.

_Good, if John has already exchanged numbers with this harpy, it’s unlikely she’ll call with my performance. Plus, she’s going to jail in the near future._

John was pissed at Sherlock, it was plain as day on John’s face. Sherlock did not need his massive intellect to tell him that.

Earlier...

John raked his eyes over the blonde in front of him.

_Finally, a case leads to a lovely witness. Maybe I can pull tonight; God knows it’s been a while._

With Sherlock constantly sabotaging his dates, John has rarely found many opportunities to chat up the fairer sex. John did not dare to date any men since coming back to London. This absence was reinforced after meeting the enigmatic Sherlock Holmes.

What man could compare to the man who gave him endless adventure to fuel his adrenaline highs, the man who laughed at crime scenes with him, who ran with him all over London, who made him feel useful, more than the damaged soldier to be pitied? Sherlock Holmes makes him feel alive.

More than that, he saved his life in so many ways.

Before Sherlock, John was descending to lows that he hid from everyone, especially his therapist. Every day began with questions that to the non-depressed would be seen as existential musings, to the depressed serious contemplations of rash actions.

Before Sherlock, John felt that his list for reasons to go on was growing shorter day by day.

But then, the whirlwind of delightful madness that was Sherlock Holmes gave him everything.

John was enchanted.

At Angelo’s, John decided to take a chance, to see if Sherlock was of an inclination to have a relationship of a romantic, sexual nature with him. But with Sherlock’s “married to his work” John decided he could (try to) be content with the friendship that was budding.

John would not pine for the man.

It was difficult; besides being gorgeously minded and fascinating, he was beautiful. Not traditionally beautiful, but uniquely handsome.

John threw himself into the dating pool. Strictly female, of course, not to roust Sherlock’s suspicions . John exclaimed “Not Gay!” but he never said he was not bisexual. Petty loop-hole, he knew, but most people do not think of sexuality like that.

It was not that he did not want a relationship with Sherlock, it was that he wanted it so badly. It was insult to injury to be taunted with having a relationship that would never come to fruition.

And that terrible woman, _The Woman_ , she saw through John’s façade. Sherlock mooned over her. John supposed she was lovely looking, a good match for Sherlock. But, John was there first! _He_ should be with Sherlock, if anyone.

But she came and went, and John remained, that meant something, _right?_

So John was out on another mad adventure. The bonus of this one was interviewing a “friendly” witness. She seemed keen to his attentions.

Her name was Mary. She looked like his type; blonde, gorgeous, petite, warm smile, superficial things John looked for in a woman. Sherlock would only view John as useful to his crime solving…until… well… he didn’t.

John was not getting any younger and as heartbreaking as losing Sherlock’s companionship was, John saw it as inevitable. One day he won’t be able to keep up.

So he knew that he needed to find someone so he didn’t spend the rest of his days a cast off of his best friend. He needed stability. And wouldn't the bonus of sharing in the intimate pleasures of a long term relationship be a nice change in pace, would it not?

As he eyed the blonde as she leaned near, tucking a small slip of paper into his pocket, he had a feeling that maybe she could be the one he could do this with. God knows Sherlock will never…

Then Sherlock stamped over. If John didn’t know better, he would think Sherlock looked jealous.

John inwardly smirked.

_Yeah right, I bet the git just wants to move on. What would he have to be jealous of? It’s not like he is interested in me._

Sherlock half-dragged John from the office to the street, John feigned being upset, but Sherlock knew better. John’s interest in the woman was mild at best.

_A good thing too; as she is a part of the murder plot that has claimed three lives._

“What was that all about?”

“John, besides saving your life-“

“What?!-“

“Yes, I do hate repeating myself. She’s a part of the string of murders. You, no doubt, the next victim, as you fit the profile.”

“Sherlock-”

“Blonde, short-“

“Hey-”

“Handsome, clever, and you appear unattached, brave, strong…”

“Be still my heart, Sherlock Holmes complimented me!”

“Don’t be stupid John, I’m simply stating the facts. I don’t know why you waste your time with these _women_ ,” Sherlock said with no small amount of venom, especially stressing the word ‘women.’

“Now I must text Lestrade so the group can be round up before the next victim.”

While Sherlock detailed the facts of the Valentine murders and the descriptions of the group members, John could not help but to reflect on the look on Sherlock’s face when he took John away from the murderess.

_Maybe it was jealousy. The way he went off about women, perhaps, just maybe I could attempt one more time to gain Sherlock’s attention._

It was around Valentine’s day, if they go out drinking, he can blame it on the alcohol.

_Good plan? Maybe not._

But it was the best he could think of.

Sherlock ended his texting spree. He eyed John appreciatively.

 _Too bad this is one sided_ , Sherlock despairingly thought.

Sherlock shook himself and asked, “Hungry? There’s a great Thai place nearby.”

“Sounds divine” John replied with his usual level of excitement. He knew that Sherlock just gave him the once over (honestly it was more likely a twice over) and Sherlock thought he hadn’t noticed.

 _Arrogant git, maybe this isn’t so much of a risk after all_.

After a companionable meal filled with Sherlock’s explanations and deductions about the Valentine murders, John suggests for them to get drinks. Sherlock did like seeing John’s face flushed red from drinking, so he agreed to go out to grab a pint or two.

They strode from the restaurant to the Horse and Pony, near Baker Street. Sherlock picked a cozy corner booth and they both sat down. John signaled the bar-maid and quickly ordered two draft pints.

“Why the sudden desire to grab a pint?”

“Oh, I think my luck is changing tonight,” John spoke with a sly smile.

Sherlock tries to suppress a blush that threatens to overtake his face, and fails, all of this inspired by the flirtatious way John spoke.

 _Damn him_.

“John, considering you almost became victim number four because of your obsessive need to find women, I seriously doubt it. If anything, your luck has worsened.”

“Maybe so, but that wasn’t what I was talking about…”

“Oh?”

“But, first, more drinking,” as John has already downed his first pint he signals the bar maid for two more, one for him and one for Sherlock.

“In a rush to find your next pull, John? There are hardly any women in here of your usual taste.”

When the barmaid returns with the two pints, John decides to speed up the drinking process and orders four shots for the both of them. He decided liquid courage was the best thing for admitting anything to Sherlock Holmes.

John sighs, “Maybe I’m not looking for my usual taste.”

Sherlock was confused, not a normal state for him by far. He had already taken in the patrons of the bar. He deduced that most were day-drinkers on their night-shift of alcohol, or adulterers waiting for their next thrill. Neither of which were John’s type.

_Who could he be talking about?_

The barmaid returned with impressive speed and lined up the shots in front of them. “Enjoy, boys!” she chirped, and was gone as quickly as she came.

Sherlock eyed all the alcohol in front of him. While John was well into his second pint, Sherlock was barely into his first. With the estimation of how much alcohol was being consumed in the amount of time they were at the pub, either John wanted to drown in his constant failure to find a woman, or he was working himself up for something. And a part of the eternal frustration (and usual joy) for Sherlock, he did not know which.

Sherlock decided that the best bet to dealing with whatever was coming was to be more sober than John. When John looked away to gauge the football score on one of the televisions in the pub, Sherlock quickly tipped his second pint in an unfortunate looking potted plant that did not at all belong in a pub. 

“Jawn, Jawn,” trying to look more drunk than he was, “Jawnnnnn.”

“What Sherlock? Oh jeeze, a pint and a half and you’re pissed.”

“Jawnnn, why did you order so many shots?”

“Because this is what mates do, they go out drinking together. Ready? We’ll do these” gesturing to the shots, “together. Okay! Now!”

John threw back the shots in quick succession, while Sherlock play acted shooting them down as well (when in fact he was dumping them on the floor.)

The alcohol was taking its toll on John, and he felt that he had finally built up the courage to lay everything down for Sherlock, to take this final chance. He hoped to God that he had a chance.

“Sherlock…”

“Yes, Jawn?”

“I wasn’t completely honest with you.”

“Ohhhhh?”

“Shhhhhh…. Let me finish, let me finish.”

“Hmmmmmm”

“Sherlock, I-” John’s grand confession was interrupted by abrupt vomiting on John’s part. The combination of off Thai food ingredients mixed with alcohol lead to an impressive amount of vomit spilling from John’s mouth. Sherlock, worried about his friend, threw down more than enough pounds on the table to pay for the drinks, and some extra for the mess. Sherlock dragged John away by placing his arms under John's and pulling him out of the bar and to the curb of the street. Sherlock turned John around (who was moaning and groaning about not vomiting from liquor since uni) and assessed John’s health. From what Sherlock could deduce, John was done vomiting for the mean time; however they needed to get back to Baker Street as soon as possible. Sherlock used his beloved scarf to wipe John off and make him presentable enough for a cab. Sherlock signaled for a cab and managed to get John inside without jostling him too much.

 _Was the Thai food off? Oh God, am I going to be sick too? Why in the world did John do this to himself? What hasn’t he been honest with me about?_ Sherlock’s mind swirled with more and more questions during the quick ride to Baker Street.

John’s head lolled to and fro during the ride.

_Why is the world spinning? This can’t be just from the alcohol. The Thai, maybe? Oh god, this is going to be a long night._

When they reached Baker Street Sherlock threw some pounds to the cabbie and immediately made his move to get John out of the cab and into the bathroom in the apartment. This was a haphazard process. A sick-drunk John was not easily handled. Sherlock, with some pitiful excuses of what could be called fighting during the journey up the stairs, got John into the bathroom. With the toilet seat up, John promptly set his forehead on the edge of the bowl. Sherlock fetched a glass of water and meds for John. Upon returning, John was exactly how he left him, miserably sick and drunk.

Sherlock set himself to the unusual task of caring for his doctor, and was thankful for his earlier decision to dump his drinks. After several hours of intermittent vomiting and swearing on John’s part, John passed out on the bathroom floor.

Sherlock took in the situation. Lugging up the dead weight that was John Watson to his bedroom seemed like an unnecessarily unpleasant task when there were viable sleep arrangements on the floor they were already on. That left Sherlock with a few options:

  1. Leave John on the floor of the bathroom to sleep it off (resulting in a pissed off John in the morning.)
  2. Dragging John to the sofa and arranging him to sleep there (this bothers Johns arm and ultimately lead to the same result as option one.)
  3. Dragging John to Sherlock’s bed and letting him sleep there that night (this may bother John slightly, but this seemed like the best possibility of all three.)



_Plus_ , Sherlock thought, _I can gather more information on John. After all, everything is data_. Sherlock put option three into action, carefully maneuvering John into his bedroom. Sherlock stripped John of his shoes and vomit-covered clothes. This left John in nothing but his pants and vest. Sherlock tucked John in, posing him on his side, using pillows to keep in that position. Sherlock was about to leave to work on some experiments for an hour or so when, he realized it would hardly be correct to leave a “mate” (as John referred to him) unsupervised after a bout of food and drinking inspired sickness. The bed was more than large enough for two men to be on it side by side, with some space in between. Sherlock took advantage of the other side of the bed and sat down, with his back against the headboard. He took up a book and read while John slept through the night.

 _Oh God my head._ John opened his eyes the next morning. _Oh God where am I? What happened last night? There was drinking, and there were drinks… I was going to tell Sherlock everything. I bet I made an ass of myself. Did I tell him everything? I think I did. I distinctly remember saying that to him. I bet he’s still married to his work. I need to salvage this, now._

When John realized he was in Sherlock’s room, he rolled over (with a considerable amount of hangover induced nausea, and saw Sherlock looking at him quizzically.

“How are you feeling?”

“Bloody awful.”

“Understandable, considering last evening’s activities.”

“What time is it?”

Sherlock glanced at his clock, “Seven forty-five.”

“Ohhhh God, my head.”

“Here.” Sherlock handed John a glass of water and meds. John took both without questioning, then it dawned on him.

“Sherlock, why am I in your room?”

“It was the most logical thing to do. Every other option was undesirable.”

“Ah…OK”

“John?”

“Hmmm?”

“What did you mean-”

“Sherlock,” John said, figuring he already spilled his guts to Sherlock last night, “it’s a okay that you don’t feel the same.”

“…” Sherlock was supremely lost, “Feel about…?”

“You, I told you that I wanted to be with you, that I was in love with you. And you turned me down, something about ‘can’t we be just friends?’ ” John said all of this with his eyes fixed on his blanket covered knees. When he finished he realized that Sherlock had not said a word. John turned to Sherlock and saw something he did not think he would ever see. It was pure shock and would have made John laugh in any other circumstance.

“John.”

“I know, I know, I’m leaving. Thank you for looking after me,” John said as he started to make his move to leave Sherlock’s bed.

Sherlock, with lightening fast reflexes, grabbed John’s hand, halting his progress.

“John, I would remember you saying that, and you definitely did not say that last night… but is it true? Are you…?”

_Oh Shit, this is was too much. Buggery Fuck._

“I-I-I-”

“Because if it is, you need not worry.”

“…?”

“Because it’s all mutual.”

The End 

**Author's Note:**

> Any ways to make this better, or helpful crit/ suggestions would be welcomed and lovely.
> 
> Please be kind!
> 
> Thanks!


End file.
